


Sang-froid

by luna_plath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Fic Fest, Deathly Hallows AU, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Potions, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:17:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_plath/pseuds/luna_plath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had all lost their childhoods because of the war; this was just one of the sacrifices she had to make, not only for herself, but for everyone. Written for hp_darkfest 2012 on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sang-froid

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this not expecting anyone to read it. The pairing is unusual, and the squicky content will surely put off some people, but hopefully a few readers will find it interesting. Thank you to V, my patient and resourceful beta, and to the darkfest mods for their hard work.

It started as an act of poorly planned vengeance. One of the Ravenclaw seventh years told them about Gryffindor’s sword in the glass case, almost like he was presenting them with a crime that needed retribution, and, naturally, they took it upon themselves to do exactly that. Neville had heard the story about the sword of Gryffindor from Professor Dumbledore, and Ginny could see the quiet anger in his features at the thought of it being in Snape’s possession. A plan began to take form, just among the three of them, to steal the sword of Gryffindor from their undeserving headmaster.

Luna elected to be a lookout, as she was the least conspicuous, with a unique talent for derailing conversations with authority figures. Neville placed himself just inside the headmaster’s office as the main line of defense—he was the best at offensive spells, despite his childhood fear of Professor Snape, and the most likely to slow him down, if not stop him completely.

That left Ginny to do the actual thieving. She was the least afraid of the inevitable punishment they would receive and already the biggest thorn in the headmaster’s side. It would give the impression that she was the ringleader, which was her intention. If worse came to worst and their actions made it back to Voldemort . . . well, she’d already dealt with him once, hadn’t she?

\-----

But this time Harry wasn’t there, wand blazing, ready to lead the way into danger. They were without her brother for support or Hermione for a well-laid plan. It was no surprise when the whole business fell to pieces.

Snape was probably the least surprised of them all, the bastard.

The day after they were caught red-handed each of them were called to the headmaster’s office in turn, beginning with Luna, then Neville, and finally Ginny.

Neville caught up with her at dinner, sliding into the seat next to her in the Great Hall, his eyes downcast.

“Have you been up to see him yet?” he asked, and it was in that moment that she began to wonder why he’d left her until the end of the day.

_Saving the best for last_ , she thought dryly.

“No,” Ginny answered calmly, eyeing her food with disinterest. “I’m to be at his office at seven o’clock.”

She ate little at dinner, having learned early on that the Cruciatus curse wasn’t as unpleasant on an empty stomach. Ginny wasn’t sure what Snape was going to do to her, as Neville hadn’t really said, but even so, the headmaster (if she were inclined to call him that) wasn’t known for physically punishing the students. He delegated that task to the Carrows.

Which left what in the way of punishment, she wondered.

Ginny reached the gargoyle in front of the spiral staircase and offered the password, asphodel, while considering what morbid task she’d be forced to undergo. She entered the office, still in her school uniform and heeled Mary Janes.

Snape looked up from a long roll of parchment, inclining his head toward the only seat in the office.

“Sit,” he said, his black eyes following her progress across the room.

She sat.

He leaned back in the chair at the headmaster’s desk and folded his hands in his lap, studying her with an intensity that she hadn’t anticipated. Ginny schooled her features into a blasé expression, trying her damnedest not to give him the impression that she cared what he did to her. So far, her sixth year had been an exercise in risk-taking; this was just another anecdote in what she expected to be the worst year from her time as a student.

“Do you truly wish to help Harry Potter?” Snape asked, stunning her into silence. This was not what she’d anticipated from him in the least.

Ginny was tempted to offer a sarcastic remark, perhaps an insult, but then she remembered that Professor Dumbledore had always trusted this man, even if it had resulted in his death. Something about Snape had convinced Dumbledore of his innocence, and though Ginny never considered herself on good terms with the man in front of her she had never drawn his full ire like Harry, Ron, or Hermione. The whole school knew that she’d dated Harry last year; what point was there in denying the truth?

“Yes,” she said at last, taking one more risk. If her involvement with Harry had ever been a secret then Snape had certainly found out by now, and Ginny had never been a very good liar anyway.

“As I thought. Then I have one more question for you, Miss Weasley, which you must answer truthfully. People’s lives may depend upon it, particularly your own.”

_Alright_ , she thought. _Let’s hear it._

\----

“Excuse me?” she said, incapable of hiding her emotions. Ginny’s ability to keep calm and brush off Snape’s wintry attitude failed her the moment those words came out of his mouth.

“It’s none of your business,” she started, but one look from him silenced her riled tone.

“Calm down, Miss. Weasley, for Merlin’s sake,” he replied icily. “Now, if you’re done overreacting, I’ll present you with an idea.”

She barely managed to get a hold of her anger, and being told that she was overreacting did little to help maintain her control. After clenching her fists and taking several leveled breaths she was again able to restrain herself, her mouth clamped shut against the insults she was considering.

“As I’m sure you remember from class, I brew experimental potions, usually at the suggestion of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. Before his death the headmaster commissioned me to develop a potion that would significantly weaken the Dark Lord to the point that it would make him easier prey for Potter. The headmaster did not live long enough to see the project’s completion, but he left very specific instructions should it occur. That’s where you come in, Miss. Weasley.”

Again, a volley of curses, insults, and invectives fought for precedence in her head, most of them concerning his guilt in Dumbledore’s death, of which she was now certain, but she held her tongue.

“Such a potion would have to be given to He Who Must Not Be Named under false pretenses. The Dark Lord is under the impression that the draught I’ve been developing will physically restore him. Also, the essential ingredient would have to be obtained with the utmost care,” he said silkily. “The potion requires a blood offering. The quality of the blood will determine its effects. Virginal blood will restore the body, while tainted blood will harm it.”

“What do you mean by tainted?” Ginny asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Simply the destruction of innocence in any form, although the destruction of sexual innocence is the most effective. However, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, the Dark Lord is no fool. He’s aware of the risk if a poor sacrifice were to be chosen—which is where you will be needed.”

“But as we’ve already established,” she bit out. “My blood is what you’d consider a _pure sacrifice_.”

“That is . . . a complication, but the fact remains that you have a tie to the Dark Lord that only a limited number of women have been able to claim.”

Ginny was tempted to say something about how You Know Who must not get around much, but Snape’s no-nonsense look deterred any jokes about his master.

“He would have to examine the donor and decide whether their blood proved worthy. There are methods,” he said pensively, “to fool him in this regard. Your memory would have to be altered to erase any proof of sexual activity, a near impossible task, as the Dark Lord can tell if he’s being lied to with startling accuracy. However, if you are truly dedicated,” he pronounced the last word more slowly, forcing her to listen, “then I see no reason not to proceed.”

The air around her felt especially dense, as if Snape was pinning her to the seat with his unwavering stare.

“Why me?” Ginny asked.

“You have the unique advantage of being pureblood and well-versed in that type of contact with the Dark Lord.”

“By ‘that type of contact’ do you mean molestation? Because that’s its proper name,” she said coldly, her words emanating from a hard pit of anger at the center of her body, inching out of her chest like a real, throbbing pain.

“He remembers you,” Snape said, his mouth a taut, severe line. “The Dark Lord requested you by name.”

Rapidly, the conversation was too much for her. Ginny reeled dizzily, black dots popping into her field of vision, a nauseous coil rising in her throat.

“To examine,” she spat, fighting nausea and humiliation. Snape ignored her seething anger in favor of exposition.

“Yes. You intrigue him. But he will never be made aware of our efforts. If we succeed, the Dark Lord will be made significantly weaker within a fortnight, something I’m sure you see the value in.”

A thought occurred to her and Ginny narrowed her eyes at the headmaster.

“How do I know you’re not trying to hand me over to him? You Know Who could use me to get information about the Order, or as a way to get to Harry.”

“All of those points are pertinent observations,” he conceded, his voice low and dangerous. “However, you do not have the distinction of being privy to Dumbledore’s plans before his death, meaning you will simply have to trust me.”

Anger crackled from her fingertips to the ends of her hair, sparking an idea in her mind. “That’s not good enough. If I’m going to put myself at risk, so will you. I’m untainted, and that will have to change before this plan will work. That’s where you come in, Professor,” Ginny said, quietly furious.

The look that crossed Snape’s face could be described as pure cunning. He seemed neither surprised nor enraged by her request, making her wonder if she’d done the right thing after all.

After a long silence he inclined his head toward her ever so slightly, a curtain of coal black hair falling against his cheek. For a moment his eyes seemed to flash in a way that reminded her of a cat, and Ginny distractedly wondered if wizards could read minds.

“Very well,” Snape said. “Our terms are settled. Speak of this to no one, least of all those ridiculous friends of yours. They wouldn’t know a secret if it knocked them out cold. I will contact you in the future with further details.”

Eager to leave the mockery of a headmaster’s office, Ginny took that as her dismissal. As she reached the door he offered one last parting shot.

“Oh, you’ll be serving your detention,” he put great emphasis on the consonants of the word, “with me. Report here at nine o’clock next Friday evening.”

With her hand clenched around the cool door handle, Ginny gave a silent exhale and a brief nod before descending the spiral staircase.

\--

All next week Ginny ruminated on the plan she’d agreed to, coming to terms with the prospect of seeing You Know Who face-to-face and having to deceive him. When she was eleven, after she’d been writing to Tom for several months, he’d begun to catch her in her lies, sensing any falsehood in the things she would write to him. The longer she wrote in the diary the better Tom had gotten at reading her.

_Will You Know Who be the same?_ Ginny wondered, alone in her four-poster bed. Snape had said that he would alter her memory, but if Voldemort was so adept at discerning lies then she was reluctant to assume a mere memory charm could fool him when she’d been incapable of lying to him through a book.

Comparatively, Ginny spent very little time thinking about Snape and his involvement. She had no way to know if he was telling her the truth, and implicating him in the deception was the only way to protect herself from being offered to the Dark Lord under a false pretense. _You’ll just have to trust me_ , he’d told her, but placing her trust in the man who’d murdered Professor Dumbledore wasn’t good enough for Ginny. Whenever she considered what was in store for her during Friday detention it was with resignation, knowing that there was no other way to both help Harry and implicate Snape. They had all lost their childhoods because of the war; this was just one of the sacrifices she had to make, not only for herself, but for everyone.

That knowledge did little to ease the knot of tension that had formed in her stomach, heavy as a stone and stubbornly present as she ascended the spiral staircase to the Headmaster’s office on Friday evening. Ginny’s teeth were clenched like she was preparing for a physical blow and the curl of adrenaline up her spine made her feel even more off-kilter. She’d worn her uniform, a fact that had seemed normal earlier but now only added to the absurdity of her circumstance.

Standing at the top of the spiral staircase, Ginny deeply inhaled a breath, trying to force her lungs to corporate. She felt the strain in each inhale like a hand was clutched around her neck, but it was only her nerves. Her school shirt felt too tight across her breasts, making her whish she’d worn an overlarge sweater instead, a cloak, a bloody sack, anything to cover her body and draw Snape’s attention elsewhere.

“Come in.”

Ginny heard the command in his voice and moved to obey. When she entered the Headmaster’s office Snape was wearing his usual black, though his billowing, bat-like robes were absent. Instead her professor of many years was in dress pants and a button-down. Thankfully, his shirtsleeves weren’t rolled up; it would have been too difficult for her to see his bare arms where the dark mark was surely branded.

His black eyes seemed to flick over her body with minimal interest. For the first time it occurred to Ginny that this experience wouldn’t necessarily be pleasant for Snape either—she’d only thought of having sex with him as a means to an end, but surely a young girl, a _child_ , wasn’t that appealing to a grown man. If she displeased him he didn’t mention it. Snape gave a sharp incline of his head, as if to encourage her to follow him, and entered a doorway that surely led to another set of chambers.

Ginny followed him with single-minded determination. If there were portraits or tapestries on the walls she didn’t see them, focusing on the space ahead of her and breathing evenly. Her own movements felt jerky and uncoordinated, like she was being controlled by someone who wasn’t yet used to the feeling of her body. The sensation was wholly different from being possessed, but the closer she got to Snape, who was standing in front of the fireplace with his back to her, the less connected Ginny felt to her own body.

Gradually, it was like she began to pull away, bundling her conscious self as small as possible while the rest of her was open, empty and ready for use.

Snape looked at her over his shoulder, the firelight softening his features. In the dim lighting he could be any older man. At that moment she didn’t feel like a single person; there were two of her. One was the real Ginny, thinking and self-aware, connected to her body by a thin line that could be snapped at any moment. The other was just an outer shell.

Mechanically, without instruction, she reached underneath her skirt and pulled her knickers down her legs, kicking them off and onto the floor.

She let herself be guided to the writing table, placing her hands on the edge and noticing, in a removed, distant way, that Snape was now much closer to her. Ginny could feel him approach her from behind. The touch of his hand on her hip felt dulled, like she was being shaken from a lucid dream and hadn’t yet woken. Snape guided her to lay against the surface of the desk, her forearms pressed against the cold surface, her hair shielding her from any details about the room.

The sound of him undoing his zipper barely reached her. Each noise was muffled and removed, sounding like a conversation from another room. Blinking, all the shapes through her curtain of hair were somehow jagged and blurry at the same time, with the world sharpened and tilted against her. Ginny tried to breathe but her chest was full of water, making each breath shallow and incomplete. The feeling of Snape’s bare hipbones against the back of her thighs made her whole body seem to disappear except for the painful, sharp tingling that had begun in her arms and legs, like each of her limbs were gradually falling asleep.

She felt a blunt pressure between her thighs, and pain. Lots of pain. Ginny remained as still as possible, knowing that it would be over soon, remembering the times she’d woken up from being possessed feeling lonely and confused. _This will end, just like that ended_ , she thought. _It will be over._

She felt the hot stain of tears on her cheeks before even realizing that she was crying, somehow feeling limp against the desk and bracing herself against Snape at the same time. He began to lay into her much harder, and Ginny thought of Tom, of how he had broken her once but slowly she’d pieced herself back together. This would be the same. Remaining still, she felt him rail against her like she needed to be broken in two, making her hips ache until Snape froze, silently emptying into her.

And finally, nothing. He pulled away and her insides felt so battered that they seemed to disappear. With all of the rough pressure gone Ginny had the impression of being feather light, so insubstantial that she could drift into the air and float away. Her whole body was numb, down to her skin, her teeth. A coldness reached into her very core as Ginny straightened herself and adjusted her clothes, feeling nothing, being no one.

It was over and she had survived. She had won.

\----

Ginny was again called to meet with Snape the following Friday evening. One of the Slytherin prefects delivered her a sealed note containing short instructions that gave no indication of what they would be doing, only that she was to arrive at seven o’clock. Looking around the Great Hall, it seemed incomprehensible to her that in twelve hours’ time she would be facing Voldemort. For that was surely what she was being summoned for.

It had been exactly one week since she’d had sex with Snape, and the build up, along with the majority of the encounter, was difficult for her to remember. Certain things remained fixed in her mind like anchors—the disembodied feeling of laying down on the desk, or the pain in her hands from digging her nails into the wood—but the actual event remained murky to her. Ginny hadn’t seen Snape when she’d been with him, making her remember the encounter as somehow less real.

She experienced none of the prickling anxiety from her last visit, only the unmovable tug of dread in her spine, like each of her steps was especially effortful.

Finally, Ginny was once again in the Headmaster’s office, but the situation couldn’t be more different. Just seeing Snape caused a whole chain of emotions to lurch through her. He withdrew his wand from his robes, coming around the finely carved desk that had belonged to Professor Dumbledore less than a year ago.

_He has been inside my body_ , Ginny thought, remembering, above all else, the pain. _And now he will go inside my mind._

Looking at her with clinical precision, Snape pointed his want at her temple.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” he said, and then the world disappeared.

 

**fin.**


End file.
